


A good run

by Argentum_Industires



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 3 - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst, Battle, Final moments, Introspection, Open Ending, during the battle for earth, unnamed Protagonist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argentum_Industires/pseuds/Argentum_Industires
Summary: During the final battle for Earth and the galaxy, thousands of soldiers defended against the Reapers. Here's the story of one of them. Coming from the prompt: "Deep from within the cavernous crevasse of the asteroid, the Earth shines overheard against the black. "We had a good run, didn't we?" you murmur."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I link ME3 and angst. Felt like shining a small light unto one of those many "War Assets" you collect during the game, and exploring their small story as Shepard makes a run for the Crucible.

When the Reaper beam ripped your engine apart, you thought it was over. The red glow had shone through the wall of your fighter, the heat of the soundless explosion scorching your suit as you spiralled. Your last thoughts were towards Earth, towards those you were trying to save.

  
Until you woke up, equipment blaring alarms sounding out, held in your chair by the harness digging into your shoulders.

  
You hear you name being yelled over the in helmet radio, and with a groan, you slam your palm into the release mechanism, dropping down two feet unto the unyielding ground. Your name is yelled again and you push yourself up, muscles screaming with effort. All you want to do is let go, fall down and rest, but your name is called again and suddenly a hand is grabbing your shoulder.

  
“… o go!”

  
You shake your head, trying to make sense of what you’re being told, and finally the words being thrown at you make sense.

  
“They’ll pulverise us out here! We need to go!”

  
It’s the lieutenant, pulling you upright, swinging your arm around their shoulder as you start to move. You step over the body of someone who must have died on impact, and finally you look up to take in the situation as the lieutenant keeps you moving. The charred corpses of your crew scatter the small crater, hunks of metal that used to be your fighter littered around the impact zone. You seem to have hit one of the asteroids that had been circling the planet, making everyone’s life in the battle harder, except the Reapers’. The fight, the last stand, still rages around you, debris hitting the surface in a mute agony, dust flying suspended in the air, your weighted boots helping you in the reduced gravity. Suddenly you grind to a halt and you’re shoved forward, tumbling into a crevasse. Another crew member grabs you by the lapels as the LT clambers down after you, pulling you into a safer harbour from the outside. As safe as you can be when fighting a last ditch battle for the sake of the galaxy.

  
They’ve settled you onto your back against some rocks, checking your vitals, but you already know something is wrong. Your chest feels tight and your mind detached from your body, as if you were living this moment as an outside observer. You see them lift your arm, check your body, try to access your suit’s electronics, but your eyes slowly wonder upwards, and there, through a gap, you can see it.

  
Earth. Your birthplace, your race’s birthplace, the blue and green planet. You’re close enough to see the battles raging, flashes of red and white as your forces attempt to push back, impair or simply slow down the Reapers. Somewhere down there, Shepard is leading the charge to the Crucible, and you could swear, for a second, that you saw them. Impossible, of course. The rock is stable against your back, but as the cold begins to creep in, your mind wanders, and you remember, gazing at your planet.

  
The feeling of the sand between your toes as the cold ocean waves grasped your ankles and the soft mountain grass beneath your hands as you lay down to gaze at the sky. Skyscrapers glinting in the sunlight and cottages resting in the hillside. Your parents swinging you between them on a Sunday afternoon. The stern eyes of the enlistment officer. Mud and grime and shouts during basic training, chatter and comradery at the cantina table mocking the drill sergeant. Cold beer and wooden bars off base, the flash of a smile as you flirted. Your lover’s eyes after a night together, soft under your hands. Excitement and joy as you stood next to Shepard the last day of your N7 training, waiting to receive your rank, arm swung around their shoulder, mischievous smiles playing on both your lips. The lieutenant’s hand clasping your arm the first time you stepped onto the fighter, welcoming you into the team. Your captain’s eyes shining with pride as you pulled off a risky manoeuvre in combat. Your child’s hand as they grasped your finger, only a few minutes into the universe.

  
“We had a good run, didn’t we?”


End file.
